THORN
by luvs2sing4073
Summary: Since they were teenagers, Tom and Christina have always been just friends. Fast foward 15 years after parting ways for college, and they end up working together. Anyone at Richmond could see that they had a special relationship. History is hard to bury.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **Thank you to all of you who have read and reviewed this so far. I honestly didn't think that anyone would actually read this since it's been a while since anything on this page has been updated. But now that I know people are actually reading my story, I'm going to continue writing.

If you've already read this, you'll notice I've added on to the prologue. I just started watching HawthoRNe at the beginning of June of this year. Thankfully I was able to catch up before season two premiered, but the idea for this story came when I first started watching. As a result, the timeline of this story won't exactly match up with the timeline of the show, but I'll explain now that while I do borrow from the show, a lot of this will be unique material. One of the things that drew me to this show was the morale, or lack thereof, that certain characters, especially Christina, held. You'll notice on the show they don't really give much a backdrop to explain how things got to the point they are now, so with this story I hope to explore some of the earlier Christina and Tom years that helped shape them into the characters we see today.

Thank you for reading.

-C.

**THORN **_Prologue 2008_

I looked over at my alarm clock and winced, trying desperately to blink the sleep out of my eyes. After leaving the hospital impossibly late yet again, I came home only to catch a few hours of sleep. For some reason, I felt more exhausted now than I did when my head first hit the pillow. I pulled on my running shoes, my brain anticipating another uneventful day at Richmond Trinity; sure there was all the melodrama in the ER. But all throughout my jog, I couldn't help but feel that my life has been just that as of late: uneventful. It's been uneventful ever since she left all those years ago. I shoved my thoughts aside, mentally admonishing myself. It's been well over fifteen years since I heard from her last, a post card at that, and I was still thinking about her.

I peeled off my sweaty clothes, letting the pitter patter from my oversized shower head rinse away the tension that was sure to return within ten minutes of being at work.

"Wakefield, you're here too early," Bobby complained as I tried to breeze past the nurses' station unnoticed.

"Good morning to you too," I smiled.

"Don't forget you have to orient the new CNO this afternoon," she reminded me.

"Remind me again why you didn't take the position?" I teased, knowing it would irritate her. "You would make an excellent chief nursing officer," I added honestly.

"In this zoo?" she laughed. "And for the hundredth time, it's not me."

"No worries," I chuckled.

"Besides, I've got more than enough to keep me occupied," she said, pointing to the stack of charts in front of her.

"I'll see you later," I told her right after they paged me.

* * *

The morning crawled along slowly enough. I had two surgeries, well one was a laparoscopy, and both went without a hitch. My schedule was cleared for the afternoon, so I retired to my office right around noon

"Come in," I said after hearing the knock on the door. "What can I do for you?"

"You can look at the file for the CNO I hired," Morrissey instructed, tossing a folder onto my desk. "She should be here soon."

"Thanks," I nodded, dismissing him.

I perused through the résumé, my interest piqued when I realized this person went to the same high school I did. I racked my brain before shaking my head. I didn't remember meeting a Christina Hawthorne, but then again there were well over two thousand students at our school. I wondered briefly it could be her, but I quickly squelched the thought, not wanting to get my hopes up. Putting the file aside, I began reading through some documents my assistant had left on my desk that I needed to sign off on. Another knock on the door briefly interrupted my reverie.

"The new CNO is here," Morrissey said.

"Send her in," I replied absent mindedly, still scrutinizing one of the many waivers.

I heard someone clear their throat and extended their hand. "Good afternoon Dr. Wakefield. I'm Christina Hawthorne."

_That voice. Where have I heard that voice before? _I stood up promptly and took her hand in mine, looking up for the first time.

And just like old times, my heart raced, my skin tingled, and I felt like the air had been knocked out of me.

"Christina?"

"Tom, oh my god!" she screamed, throwing herself into my arms.

I wrapped my arms around her awkwardly, while my body involuntarily relished in the familiar feel of her embrace. Taking in her scent, I finally realized, after all this time, what I had been missing.

"Wow that was really unprofessional of me," she said, breaking free of my grasp. "But what do I care?" she added, causing me to laugh.

I stood there flabbergasted, still unsure of what to say. "Were you expecting someone else?" she asked.

"Umm, I was expecting a Christina Hawthorne," I said lamely. And then it hit me. She was _married_. _Of course she's married you idiot! A girl like that . . . _But it was glaringly obvious that the person in front of him was no longer a girl.

"Well that's me. At least now it is," she chuckled nervously, playing with her ring. "When they told me I'd be meeting with the Chief of Surgery, Dr. Thomas Wakefield, I couldn't help but think for a fleeting moment that it might've been you. But then I thought, there are probably a dozen Tom Wakefields floating around the world," she rambled. Well there's one thing that hasn't changed. "But it's really you!" she exclaimed, hugging me again. "It's been too long," she mumbled into my chest.

The events that followed were really sort of a blur. We went over the details of her job and what it would entail, I explained some of the ins and outs of the hospital. I introduced her to some important people, as well as her nursing staff who seemed taken with her immediately, and gave her a tour of the hospital.

"Is cranberry juice okay?" I asked, setting the bottle down on the table next to her tray. "I remember it used to be your favorite…"

"More than okay Tom. Nowadays I'd much prefer a cranberry vodka to help me unwind after a long day. You know, you should try it sometime," she winked.

"I'll take you up on that," I said.

"Mmm," she moaned in approval after taking a sip. "I can't believe you remembered."

"I remember just about everything about you," I admitted. "How have you been?" I asked quickly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Well I wouldn't know where to begin. But I _do _know that we don't have enough time for me to tell you my life's story, so here's the abridged version: I started school, dabbling in a little of everything that interested me before finally deciding to focus on nursing," she began. "Who would've thought that _I _would become a nurse," she laughed.

I could see it. She was incredibly bright and tenacious, not to mention compassionate, even if she didn't realize it; Christina always had a real heart for people.

"People change," I said.

"Nah, I'm still me . . . just more practical I guess. I figured I could help real people this way," she continued. "Anyways, I met Michael, and we got married not too long later, much to Amanda's dismay. And now I'm here," she finished, skipping all of the important details.

"Wait by Amanda, do you mean Amanda Hawthorne? Like on the board of directors Amanda Hawthorne?" I asked, finally making the connection.

"That would be my mother-in-law from hell," she chuckled. "I know how sketchy that seems me getting this job what with her working here and all. But she hates me, and there is no way she'd ever go out of her way to do something that would help me. But enough about me. How are you doing?"

"I'm good," I lied. But how could I tell her that my life had been empty in her absence? That time, in this case over fifteen years, didn't heal; and yes, absence made the heart grow fonder. I couldn't be "good" because sitting across the cafeteria table from me was the girl I'd shared all my secrets with. The girl I spent hours on the phone talking to about nothing and everything at the same time, even though I could see her through my bedroom window because she lived next door. The girl who left home after graduation taking my friendship, and unbeknownst to her, my heart.

* * *

**Christina POV **_Four Months Later_

So I've been working at Richmond Trinity for several months now, and it's been an . . . adventure, to say the least. It felt like home. I absolutely adored my nursing staff and had taken to slowly coaxing them out of the shells of complacency; in this profession, I've found that instinct often overrides protocol, and so far my instincts haven't failed me yet. Some may think me absolutely crazy, and others even dub me reckless. But at the end of the day, the health of my patients is all that matters. Change has been difficult, but I've implemented a couple small ones nonetheless. On the other hand, there certainly was a lot of activity here. To the average bystander, every day in the ER was a soap opera; I guess I can't entirely refute that point since Richmond Trinity's Emergency Room staged such a wide range of emotion. Life, death, happiness, and unbelievable sorrow; it all just about started and ended here. But to me and other medically trained personnel I'm sure, each new case that comes in shatters the thought that you've seen all that there is to see to pieces. My job challenged me, and I couldn't help but feel like my life was more _exciting_. Well my work life at least. Of course me constantly butting heads with the board and most of the doctors added to that, but Tom had my back. He always did. Things between us weren't the same as they were before, but how could they be? I mean a lot can happen in fifteen years. Don't get me wrong we were still friendly, but while I still considered him my best friend, there were so many things that we probably didn't know about each other. And he was right; people _do _change.

I was so happy that he and Michael hit it off. I don't know why the thought of my husband not getting along with Tom bothered me, but I didn't have to worry about it very long. Everyone at the hospital adored Michael, it was kinda hard not to, and people often pointed out the uncanny physical and personality semblances between Tom and my husband. Ever since the hospital barbeque, the two have made plans to do whatever it is that men do any weekend that Tom wasn't swamped at the hospital. Even Camille seemed taken with him, a huge feat considering her mood swings and teenaged attitude.

_Speaking of the devil . . . _I thought as my daughter's number flashed across the screen of my office phone. _Why was she calling my office number?_

"Hey sweetie is something wrong?" I cooed into the phone.

"Mom!" she said frantically. "I've been trying to reach you, but I haven't been able to get through to your cell!"

"Whoah, whoah, whoah. Calm down, I just have crappy reception in here. Where's the fire?" I asked, concerned.

"It's dad," she said. "We were at home, and he was making dinner, and I really don't have time to explain everything right now. We're on the way to the hospital."

"What?" I asked disbelievingly as the line went dead.

I ran to the Emergency Room right as the paramedics burst through the automatic doors, a frightened Camille not far behind. Now I had seen plenty of gruesome things in my lifetime; plenty a tragic scene unfold in this very hospital. But _nothing _could prepare me for the sight before my eyes. My _husband _was strapped to a stretcher, a neck brace keeping him immobilized. He was so pale, so still. I barely recognized him. Being the loving wife I knew it was my duty to be by his side, but I couldn't bear to take a step. I was frozen in place as the scene progressed before me in a hazy slow motion…..

The gurney careened through the ER with Camille chasing after it, and I heard the familiar _1, 2, 3,_ from Bobby as they transferred Michael to a bed. While I teetered between time and space, my heart raced, my head pounded, and I couldn't help but feel that some universal law was dishing out its own form of justice for me not trying harder to make things work with Michael. It took a scream from Camille to shock me back into reality.

"You're hurting him!"

"No they're not honey, they're just trying to help," I assured her. I switched into nurse mode then, shouting orders.

"Christina, you can't be in here," Candy warned.

"That's my _husband_!" I yelled.

"My point exactly," she said, eyeing me sadly. "You're too emotional to think rationally right now."

"I need a CT scan and an X-ray to check for possible head trauma or broken bones from his fall. And I need a biopsy lined up," one of the interns ordered.

"A _biopsy_?" I echoed, my mind reeling.

"Just standard procedure; we need to rule out some things first," he explained. "And right now nothing is making sense. How does a seemingly healthy young man just collapse out of the blue?"

I knew this already, and the intern was making sense. Other than the neck brace and plummeting pressure, no one would have a clue that Michael was hurting. But I couldn't wrap my mind around the possibilities.

"We need his pressure stabilized before we send him for any tests," Bobby said, echoing my concern. "Somebody page Dr. Mazaki,"

"No, I want Tom to do it," I demanded. I trusted the other doctors on staff to do a good job. But I wanted the best. And Tom was just that.

"He's in surgery," Candy said.

"Well how much longer will he be?" I asked, my voice suddenly sounding uncharacteristically small.

"Four hours," Ray answered. "He had to take over a bilateral cingulotomy Neuro's out."

"Mom what's wrong with dad? What are they doing to him?" Camille shrieked.

"Christina, you need to get her out of here," Bobby instructed.

"Camille, baby, let's go," I said.

"I'm not leaving him," she sobbed.

"We need to give the doctors and nurses room to work," I explained. "Come on. We need to go find your grandmother."

**Tom's POV **

I walked out of the OR feeling exhausted and strange. Peeling off my gloves and mask, I ambled over to the locker room to change out of surgical scrubs. As I entered the hallway, I could quickly sense that something was wrong. The nurses' station that was usually bustling with activity was oddly silent save for the errant rings of phones going unanswered. The halls were still and the faces of the nurses were pensive and sad. Christina was nowhere to be seen or heard, and I began to worry. Even the ER was quiet.

I traipsed briskly through the ICU and saw Bobby in one of the rooms. Backpedaling, I peeked in to ask her what was going on. "Bobby - " I started, pausing mid sentence as I noticed Camille in one of the beds. Her resting face was contorted in agony.

Bobby looked up at me, her eyes red and puffy. It was obvious she had been crying. "They had to sedate her," she said, answering my silent question.

"What happened? Where's Christina?" I wondered aloud.

"I think she should tell you herself," she said, wiping her eyes. "You just missed her. She's probably in one of the waiting rooms," she added, reading my mind.

I raced over to the lobby and found Christina sitting in one of the chairs, her hands over her head, and her face buried in her lap.

"Christina," I called her name softly. She looked up at me, and the expression on her face was one that I would hope to never see again.

"Tom," she croaked, her voice hoarse. She hadn't been crying, but she looked like she was about to break.

Not wanting to pry, I waited for her to speak. But my concern only grew as the seconds ticked by, and my instinct to help her quickly overrode the need to appease her.

"Christina, I can help you. But I need you to talk to me," I coaxed.

After a few more moments of silence, she finally stated, "It's Michael."

"What about him? Is something wrong?" I asked, worried.

"He," she started, shaking her head in disbelief, "has cancer," she finished.

My head pounded as I tried to process the information. I was in shock, probably not as much as she was, but in shock no less. I suddenly felt disgustingly low for envying him for so long; I was jealous of him long before I had met him, and it wasn't my place. Michael wasn't just Christina's husband. He was my friend.

"Wh-what type?" I stuttered.

"Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma," she said.

Of course, one of the worst kinds. I've seen this before, and it never ended well. Not only would this be a challenge mentally, but emotionally too. I've been blessed enough to never have to witness any of my family suffer through the atrocity that is cancer. I've done this time and time again, I'm an oncologist for Christ's sake, but the expression ''til it happens to you', or in this case, Michael, never made more sense than it did now. I tried desperately to hold on to any sliver of hope that I could offer her; if it was detected early enough, we could possibly still save him . . .

"_Stage four,"_ she whispered.

Shit.

And for the first time since she left all those years ago, Christina broke down in my arms sobbing.

"Do me a favor," she sniffled.

"Anything," I told her.

"Lie to me. Tell me everything will be okay," she murmured into my shirt.

"I can't," I said. And as much as it hurt, I knew from experience that placating her now would only hurt her more in the long run. I also knew that everyone else will probably tell her that it'll be okay, but I wasn't everyone else. "But I _can _tell you that _you _will be okay," I added. She would be. She always was. I wasn't telling her to be strong, I knew that she was already, but she needed to realize that it's okay to be weak sometimes. It's okay for her to put her guard down with me, to be vulnerable. It was okay for her to be angry, or worried, or sad.

She was silent for quite some time, most likely mulling over what I'd said. "Thank you," she sighed.

I don't know how long we stayed like that; her in my arms while I caressed her hair, not knowing what else to say. I've dealt with cancer patients and their families before, but somehow a simple _I'm sorry_ didn't seem adequate. Besides, Michael wouldn't be _just another _patient. He was my best friend's husband.

And with that I resolved to do my damned best to make this man better. Failing Christina was simply not an option.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Okay so I didn't want to try (and fail) writing the tragic details of the course of Michael's sickness, so I skipped a year like they did in season 1. The dates kind of jump around a bit from here on out so bear with me please.

And also if you haven't noticed, I added on to the prologue so go back and read that if you haven't already :))

-C.

**Tom POV**_ Over One Year Later . . . Present Day_

"Christina you know he signed a DNR."

"And I told Dr. Spitzer that, but I couldn't get his file, and he was hell bent on saving David's life; not that I mind," she explained.

"You should mind. I don't want my patients to die, but I can't go against their wishes," I told her.

"He's not just any patient. He's our friend. He was Michael's friend," she said as I sighed.

"Explain something to me then. What the hell were you thinking up there?" I asked, livid. What'd she'd done was brash, crazy, and dangerous.

"Tom, not now," she warned.

"You should have called me."

"Should that have been while I was trying to talk David out of throwing himself off the ledge, or while I was getting arrested for 'breaching hospital security'?" she hissed.

I suppressed a smirk recalling the sound of her voice when she had called me from the police station earlier this morning, bringing back memories of me bailing her out of detention. It didn't change the fact that she had let him jump.

"It wouldn't have made a difference," she added.

"Wouldn't have made a difference?" I sputtered. "I can tell you one thing, if I had been there he wouldn't have jumped," I yelled, regretting the words as soon as they left my mouth.

"Well forgive me for wanting to help my husband's friend on the anniversary of his death."

"I forgot," I sighed. How could I forget that a year ago I helped my best friend bury her husband? "Maybe you should go - "

"I _am_ home," she cut me off. "Besides, Bobby already tried. You're both stuck with me," she smirked, reaching into the front pocket of my scrubs to grab a green lollipop.

I silently prayed that she couldn't feel the effect that her mere smile had on me as my heart hammered in my chest.

Her phone beeped, tearing her eyes away from me. "I'll be there in a second."

* * *

I watched Christina tear through the hallway, not even pausing to say hello to everyone like she always did. She was always great with all of the personnel, and had most everybody eating out of the palm of her hand – except for some of the doctors – but deep down they knew there was a method to her madness. My long strides caught up with her quickly, and we rounded the corner into her office. She huffed into her chair noisily.

"Okay, so you came in this morning all smiles and sunshine, then you leave in a storm without explanation," I commented sarcastically.

"Would you like me to divulge my exact whereabouts at every second of the day?" she retorted.

"While I'm sure that'd be interesting," I said, meaning it; there was no telling what that woman was up to and how she managed to end up in certain situations. "I'd much rather you tell me what's really bugging you."

"Camille," she answered monosyllabically. As if that was the answer to everything.

"You say that just about every day, and I still can never anticipate the stories that follow," I teased.

"She hasn't been in school two hours, _two hours_Tom, and already I get a call from the principal's office," she groaned, running her hands over her face like she always does when she's frustrated.

"It can't be _that_ bad," I baited.

"Oh it gets worse," she chuckled. "She managed to _handcuff _herself to a _vending machine_. And when they asked her to unlock herself and get back to class she went on a rant about how schools shouldn't be selling overpriced, processed garbage to its students. She held up the poor delivery man for an hour."

I laughed. "Don't be too hard on her," I advised as Christina quirked a brow up at me. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," I added, thinking back to when I had met Christina for the first time. Well, maybe _met _wasn't the appropriate term. I had mostly just stood there and watched her . . .

_**Tom POV**__ August 1989_

_KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK. __"Thomas! Thomas! Lèves-toi chérie! __"_

_I groaned as I turned over in my bed. __"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a maman?"_

"_Chou Chou you need to wake up if you're ever going to get used to the time difference," my mom cooed in her accented English. "Besides, I need you to run to the market for me while I continue unpacking. There's nothing to eat here," she continued, her voice muted by the door._

_Maybe if I just ignore her she'll go away. I love my mother dearly, but couldn't I at least try to enjoy the last Sunday of summer before I have to face Monday at a foreign school in a foreign country?_

"_Come on Tom, I'm not ordering take-out again and surely you do not want to starve. Dépêches-toi." _

"_J'arrive," I say walking to my bathroom to brush my teeth. _

_I bound down the stairs a little while later, showered and awake as I kissed my mom good morning. "Bonjour maman."_

"_Bonjour chérie. The keys are on the table by the door. Be careful!"_

_Well at least there was one upside about moving to the States: I can drive now, whereas in France I'd have to wait another two years before I could get my license. I started the car ready to exercise my new-found 16-year-old freedom when I heard the God-awful beep. I checked the dashboard and sure enough, it was the gas gauge. Great. Mom must've forgotten to fill it up. I still didn't know where anything was, but I followed the main road looking for the nearest gas station. I pulled up to a Texaco, oblivious to a small crowd that was beginning to form around one of the pumps._

"_Ten dollars on number 7 please," I ask the cashier, but his attention is elsewhere. Americans._

"_What in the world is that girl up to now?" he muttered, shaking his head._

_I looked up at the monitor behind him, determined to find what riveted him so when I saw it. One of the black and white panels showed footage of a girl about my age with wildly curly dark hair chained to pump number 9. My initial instinct was that she must be hurt. I run back outside thinking that I'd soon be witness to some oddly terrible American crime that would somehow make its way into French news. I stopped just shy of the group surrounding her, which had nearly double in size since I'd been inside. Why wasn't anybody doing anything?_

"_STOP THE CRUDE OIL SPILL IN THE AMAZON!" the tiny being yelled._

_What on Earth is she going on about?_

"_MAKE TEXACO CLEAN UP ECUADOR!"_

_And that was when I noticed the signs._

"_MAKE THEM PAY REPARATIONS TO THE CAFÁN!"_

_By now the news cameras had arrived, and the employees were filing out of the store. The one in the stuffy suit didn't look particularly happy._

"_Are you insane?" the man screamed. She stared at him defiantly, her light brown eyes fiery and mischievous. "You get down here this instant! "_

"_No," she said coolly with a quirk of her eyebrow as she went back to repeating her mantra. "END THE CRUDE OIL SPILL IN THE AMAZON!"_

"_Either you end all this…this madness, or I'll have you escorted off the premises by security!"_

"_On what grounds?" she challenged._

"_You are hindering business!"_

"_I am exercising my first amendment right to free speech. Ever heard of it? I'm not leaving here until you admit to dumping toxic waste into the rainforest!"_

"_As owner of this gas station, I am telling you to go practice your 'first amendment rights' elsewhere!" he hollered, a vein in his neck throbbing uncontrollably._

_The girl ignored him and went right back to her shouting, further infuriating the man. He began shouting at one of the employees and she ran back into the store. "I thought the hippie movement ended two decades ago," he muttered to himself. _

"_Come on guys," she pleaded. "This fight has been going on for almost ten years. Innocent people are dying of cancer and unknown diseases. Babies are born and stop developing after six months. The soil is no longer arable because of the levels of petroleum in the soil. People can't raise animals because they die from the toxicity of the water from the river. They have no livelihood. No means to treat themselves because they cannot afford it. The Cafàn were a people who lived in peace before the arrival of Texaco and their drilling stations. They depend on the ecosystem for their survival. Make Texaco clean it up!"_

_The crowd began to cheer and police sirens wailed in proximity. The man in the suit approached one of the officers, talking excitedly. He pointed to the girl chained to the pump._

"_Listen lady, I need you to get down from there so I can go back to doing real police work," the officer told her._

"_No, I'm not leaving." She answered. _

"_Wait a minute Christina? I thought you promised me you'd stay out of trouble. Your mother's gonna have a heart attack if she has to pick you up at the station one more time."_

_So everyone knew this girl. And from what I observed, she was a regular. At the police station._

"_I'm not in trouble per se," she argued._

"_Come on, you know the drill," he said as he approached her with a pair of handcuffs. _

"_You still haven't read me my rights yet," she said pointedly._

"_I would think that by now you'd have it memorized."_

_She opened her mouth, probably to say "I do", but was interrupted by a woman, who looked very much like her, pushing through the crowd._

"_Christina, honey. I think you've made your point. Unchain yourself," she said._

"_But mom," she pleaded._

"_No buts. Come on honey let's go home," she said as she helped her daughter free herself._

_The police officer disbanded the crowd, and I walked back to my car thinking what an odd display. I thought about what she said. I mean I'd never heard about the spill in Ecuador. I suddenly felt guilty putting gas into my car, but I had to get around somehow. I left Texaco that morning thinking two things:_

_This Christina girl was dangerous. And crazy._

**Tom POV **_Present Day_

"Yeah, yeah. Don't you go telling her that now. I don't need her finding any way to justify her actions, much less ways that include me," she warned.

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "My lips are sealed . . . for now," I joked.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed before she finally spoke again. "She still blames me you know. Not to mention Amanda."

"Well, you and I both know we did all that we could. And at the end of the day that's all that matters," I assured her.

"I should get back to work," she said. "And I'm sure the Chief of Surgery has something he needs to be doing other than talking to me," she teased.

"I'll always have time for you," I said honestly, right before my pager beeped. "Until one of my patients are about to go into surgery," I laughed. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later," she said.

"Oh, and don't forget we have a budget meeting later," I reminded her before dashing up to the OR.

* * *

So the budget meeting hadn't gone as planned. But with Christina nothing ever did. After she had chewed out Marshall for the incident involving Stein and the corporal, I ended the meeting once she randomly requested changing to a better smelling disinfectant for the janitors and enlisting every board member present into making origami _centerpieces_. She left my office with a shrug and I headed for the locker room, calling it a day. I hung my lab coat, changing into my civilian clothes when I heard the door open. I didn't have to look up to know who it was. "Are you heading out too?"

"I don't know if I should be alarmed, flattered, or just plain creeped out at the fact that you can sense my presence," she teased. "And yes, I'm going home."

"I'll wait for you," I said. "Listen, do you want me to stop by later? I'd hate for you to be alone."

"Well Camille is going to be with Amanda tonight, so the house will be pretty quiet. But I'll be fine. I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company," she chuckled.

"Are you sure?" I asked as I tried futilely to not watch her change out of her scrubs.

"Yes," she drawled. "You and Bobby are ridiculous. Did you know she tried to cancel her date with Nick the paramedic so that she could spend the night with me?" she added, slamming her locker door shut.

She proceeded to tell me about the nutcase that had stabbed Bobby's prosthetic while trying to kill his wife, and rambled on about her day as we walked to the parking lot. Of course I had already heard most of this from the other doctors, but somehow it sounded more interesting coming from her.

"Goodnight, Christina," I said when we stopped at her car.

"Goodnight Tom."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A couple of the lines in the flashback are in French, but it's pretty easy to follow. And yes I am fluent in French, so I do realize when I read other stories and the French that they put in (I'm assuming from a translator) makes little sense.

And also as you'll notice, there are several issues that I am very passionate about that will be included in this story, the situation in the Amazon being one of them. This disaster doesn't get much attention in the news, and it's been going on for several decades now; it was an issue back in the 80s, and unfortunately is still an issue now. There's not much we personally can do; I've written letters to Chevron/Texaco (they've merged now), with little success, but I try to raise awareness whenever I can.

Here's the rest of the flashback if you'd like to read it.

**Christina POV **_Summer 1989_

_I fumed for the entire ride home, and my mom just let me stew. I hated how nobody took me seriously. I hated that there was so much bad shit in the world that everybody just ignored. How could people just look away when there was so much suffering taking place? Unnecessary suffering. Suffering that could be easily ended if the right people decided to do something. Why wasn't I getting through to people?_

"_Christina, honey, I swear if you don't stop thinking so much those wrinkles will become permanent," my mom said._

_Sighing, I continued staring aimlessly out the passenger window. I knew I was being immature and that my attitude was unwarranted – my mom could probably pop me upside the head any minute now – but I was feeling frustrated insignificant, and ineffective. _

"_Sweetie, you may have lost the battle, but you haven't lost the war," she quoted, trying to make me feel better._

"_Mom, you say that every time you have to cart me home from one of my protests," I reminded her._

"_And it's still true every single time," she said confidently._

"_I'm a failure," I groaned dramatically._

"_Now you know that's not true," she scolded, looking over at me. "You've had your fair share of successful demonstrations. And even then, it isn't always about winning; you have to pick your battles. Not everyone is always going to see eye to eye with you. You'll encounter people who are indifferent, and not every rally will be as effective as you hope. But at the end of the day, you will have done the right thing. You can't change people, Christina. But you can make them think. You can make them scratch their heads and say 'hold on a second, something's not right with this picture'. Even if that's all they do, it's a start. And that my dear is the seed for change."_

_I thought about what she said, and to my horror, my mom was making sense. By now we had pulled into our driveway, and I noticed the pile of boxes at the edge._

"_I hope that's corrugated," I said as my mom chuckled._

"_The new neighbors moved in recently," she told me. "And I hope you don't mind that I invited them over for dinner while you were out causing trouble."_

"_No, no problem at all," I shrugged as I headed up the steps to my room._

"_Then it also won't be a problem if I ask you to help me clean up before they get here?" my mom shouted after me._

_**Tom POV **__Summer 1989_

"_Mom, I thought the objective was to unpack and put things in their place," I commented as I stood in her doorway. Her closet, which up until now had been almost completely organized unlike the rest of the house, was in complete disarray. Most of its contents were scattered on the bed and floor._

"_Oh good you're back," my mom said. "What do you think?" she asked holding up two dresses that looked confusingly similar in each hand. Before I could answer she threw both of them on the floor saying "I know, they're too . . .tapageur."_

_I laughed at her tendency to resort to inserting random French words when she couldn't find their English equivalents fast enough. "Why are you so worried about what's too flashy or not?"_

"_The neighbors invited us for dinner later," she cooed, digging through a pile of shoe boxes. "Isn't that nice?"_

"_Yeah, I guess," I shrugged. _

"_I spent almost an hour on the phone with Charlotte even though I've never met her before. She was just lovely!" my mom praised. "Oh chérie, I'm sorry. I made you go to the market for no reason," she apologized._

"_No worries, I'll just put the groceries in the fridge. We'll have it to cook with tomorrow," I said._

"_Now go take a shower and put on something nice. We'll be expected before you know it."_

"_Isn't it a bit early for dinner?" I asked._

_"Chérie, have you forgotten where we are?"_

_"Right," I answered._

_"Dinner will be __served around 6:30, but we need to get there earlier so we can talk. And help if need be."_

_We walked over next door at about 5:15, me feeling particularly dweebie in my button-down and slacks as my mom rang the doorbell._

_I instantly recognized the woman who answered the door as the girl from the gas station's mother. "I'm so happy you could make it," she gushed as she ushered us inside. "Oh and you must be Tom. I'm Charlotte."_

"_It's nice to meet you, Mrs.-" I started, not realizing I didn't know her last name._

"_Please call me Charlotte. Mrs. Stevens is my mother," she chuckled. _

"_Charlotte," I finished, shaking her hand as I leaned in to kiss her cheek. My mom did the same before handing her one of the bottles of wine my mom had shipped over from home._

"_Amélie, you shouldn't have," Charlotte said._

"_What kind of Frenchwoman would I be if I didn't bring any Sémillon to dinner," my mom joked. "Do you need any help in the kitchen?"_

"_You insult me," Charlotte clucked. "You're my guest."_

"_Nonsense," my mom said, following her._

_My mom and Charlotte were engrossed in a conversation that I didn't even try to follow. Instead, I found myself wondering if her daughter was here. It'd be nice to know at least one person, even if said person was possibly a psychopath, before starting school tomorrow. Assuming we'd be attending the same school that is._

"_Where's Christina?" my mom asked. My ears perked, suddenly taking interest in what they were saying._

"_Oh, she's in the garage working on her latest . . . project," Charlotte hesitated._

"_But school hasn't started yet," my mom pointed out._

"_Oh it's not for school," Charlotte laughed. "Summer doesn't register the same way for her as it does the rest of the teenaged population. She's always up to something. I'll go get her. She'll never hear me over whatever she has playing on the turntable…"_

"_L__et Tom go get her," my mom said. "They need to meet anyhow."_

"_Okay," Charlotte shrugged. "It's the door to your left at the end of the hall."_

_Stepping into the garage, I was surprised to hear Edith Piaf's "Padam" warbling through the air. While she was considered a timeless classic in France, most people my age didn't even know who she was. I probably wouldn't have if it weren't for the fact that my mother owned all of her records and still like to play them around the house. I glanced around the space searching for Christina and was about ready to go back inside and say she wasn't there when I noticed a small foot poking out from under one of the cars. I called out her name, but as predicted, she couldn't hear me. So I slid in under the car beside her._

"_Oh my God!" she screamed, obviously startled. "Who are you and how the hell did you get into my house?" she demanded, scrambling to a stand._

"_I'm sorry," I said excusing myself. "We just moved in next door, and your mom invited us for dinner. I'm Tom," I explained as I leaned in to kiss her cheek that was covered in car grease._

"_Whoah there hot lips," she said pulling back from me. "I don't even know you."_

"_I was just saying hello," I said, confused. "Your mom sent me to get you. Dinner's gonna be ready soon."_

"_Crap," she muttered. "I lost track of the time. She's going to be pissed at me later," she said as she went inside. I watched in amusement as she tried to tiptoe past the kitchen unnoticed._

"_For heaven's sake Christina," her mother exclaimed, "go put something presentable on."_

"_Sorry, got really busy, forgot we were having company," she called as she dashed up the stairs._

_Moments later she came back down showered, and looking really pretty in a yellow sundress. She took the only empty seat beside me at the table._

"_She's beautiful," my mom cried as she leaned over the table to kiss her. Christina stiffened, but she must've realized by now that this was customary for our family._

"_Thank you," she said bashfully._

"_And look at her hair! What do you use?" my mom asked._

"_Oh I don't use hairspray," Christina quipped. "CFCs are bad for the environment."_

"_Of course," my mom agreed. "Aerosols were banned in my country years ago."_

"_Same here! But you'd be surprised at how many people still use them," Christina added, shaking her head._

"_She looks like a regular gitain, right Tom?" my mom asked me. With her wildly curly, dark hair, and her armful of colorful, braided leather bracelets, she did kind of look like a gypsy. So I nodded my head yes._

"_So what were you working on in the garage?" I asked._

"_I'm trying to convert my car into a biodiesel," she said as her mom shook her head. "That way I won't be polluting the atmosphere, or our drinking water for that matter, and Texaco will never see a red dime from me again."_

_So for the rest of dinner we listened to Christina explain to my mother what happened at her demonstration earlier today, and how she was planning on making her car work on vegetable oil._

_Yup, she's still crazy, I thought. And dangerous, I added as I pictured her blowing up her garage. _

**Author's Note: **Please tell me I'm not the only one that thinkstonight's episode was ah-mazing!


	3. Chapter 2

**Tom Pov **_Present Day_

"Christina, you wound me," I said as I fell into step beside her.

"What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, looking down at the chart in her hands.

"You didn't invite me to the wedding. And here I thought I was your friend," I frowned, feigning hurt.

She gave me a cool look that said she wasn't even going to respond to what I just said.

"No really, I'm great at weddings," I continued. "I make a killer toast, dance like a white guy, hit on all the bridesmaids –"

"Throw up in the azaleas," she finished for me.

"You'll never let me live that one down will you?" I chuckled.

"How could I ever forget how you ruined the thousand dollar flower arrangements at Mrs. Patterson's wedding? Maybe if you could hold your alcohol –"

"We were sixteen," I reminded her, as if that should excuse me being a lightweight. I mean I was plenty accustomed even at that age to having wine with my mom occasionally, that wasn't a problem in France, but wasn't used to downing vast amounts of Roland.

"How in the hell did they let us have champagne then?" she asked.

"By batting your eyelashes at one of the servers," I reminded her. Even then it was hard to refuse Christina. Especially when she was all decked out in her slinky bridesmaids dress. That poor waiter didn't know what hit him, and he just kept 'em coming.

"Still it's not like I put it in a bottle and force fed it to you," she retorted. "Besides, I thought you were a pretty good dancer."

"Slow dancing I can do," I started, feeling the heat rise to my face. I suddenly felt like my sixteen-year-old self all over again, trying to stifle teenaged hormones as Christina and I swayed on the dance floor. Not to mention the waltz we spent countless of rehearsals perfecting. Mrs. Patterson didn't really care that most teenagers didn't have a clue when it came to waltzing, although I did since my mom had taught me when I was younger, or fox-trotting for that matter. She wanted her wedding to be elegant, and that included thousand dollar flowers and dancing groomsmen and bridesmaids. "But I didn't have a clue about the cabbage patch, or running man, or the Egyptian dance for that matter."

"Don't forget the Hammer dance and the Electric Slide," she added. "Those were the days huh?" she laughed. "We must've looked utterly ridiculous, but you were a pro by the end of the night."

"Well I must admit I had a pretty good teacher," I said. "But we digress," I added, trying to steer the conversation back to the issue at hand.

"Congratulations, Christina," one of the nurses said in passing, making me laugh. I could sense her frustration.

"Well at least that'll squelch the rumors about you and me. For now," she said.

"What rumors," I asked. I know people often teased me about favoring Christina and being too lenient with her but . . .

"Oh you know same old same old. That I do you _favors_ in return for you saving my ass with Morrissey," she shrugged. "Last week's was that we had sex on a medicine cart in one of the supply closets, and yesterday's . . . well you don't need to hear that one. It's my favorite so far though. People are so _inventive_," she said nonchalantly as we stopped outside of her "husband's" room.

I was taken aback by her frankness and nearly choked on my own saliva. Pulling at my collar, which seemed uncomfortably tight all of a sudden, I asked "Does he need a CT scan?" desperately needing to change the subject.

"Maybe?" she shrugged, batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair.

"I'll go take a look," I laughed, remembering that was the exact same thing she had done to the server when he asked us if we were old enough to be drinking.

"He's showing signs of an aneurism," I frowned. "But I'm not entirely sure. I'll send him down to imaging."

"Thank you, _doctor_," she winked as I left to respond to a page.

**Christina POV **_Present Day_

"Looks like you were right, it was an aneurism. Right frontal lobe," I confirmed.

"That thing's a ticking time bomb," Tom winced as he read the scan again. "Once his pressure stabilizes somewhat we'll have him sent to the OR."

"Right. I'm thinking 10/8," I added.

"You're being cautious, but I think he can go in a little lower than that," he shrugged. "I say ninety over eighty."

"Well he's at 70/60 right now, so I think he needs twenty more systolic and fifteen diastolic," I challenged.

"Fifteen systolic, ten diastolic," he said.

"Twenty-ten," I said, doing an internal happy dance as I watched him deflate.

"Deal," he relented.

**Tom POV**

I shook my head at Christina's insufferable tendencies all the way back to my office. But I couldn't help but laugh. She was persistent, irritatingly stubborn, and independent, yet all of her quirks made her all the more endearing to me. Our exchange reminded me of that one day, not too long after we first started our junior year, when I tried to convince her to let me give her a ride to school . . .

_Fall 1989_

_I mentally cursed my mother for insisting that I micro-mow our lawn. Despite the fact that November was quickly approaching, it was still disgustingly hot out, and I was sweating like a piglet. I hadn't even started on the backyard yet. I looked over at the house next door, and found myself thinking about Christina yet again. I had seen her around school on several occasions. Actually she was in several of my classes which surprised me; while I was a junior here, if I were back home I would be graduating at the end of this year, and more often than not Christina and I were the only students our age in senior classes. But we haven't really spoken more than a few words to each other since her mom invited me over for dinner. I tried to make conversation, but with her one word answers it was hard to get past the usual 'hey' and 'how are you?' She obviously wasn't antisocial; she had more friends than anyone I knew. And despite the fact that I should feel offended at the fact that she was trying to shut me out, I still felt the overwhelming need to befriend her. I've quickly become accustomed to American culture, which in some ways wasn't entirely different from that of Europe, but I could never get used to Christina. She was truly unlike anyone I had ever met. She doesn't dress the same way that most of the girls at school do and listens to foreign music. But whether she was crusading for global injustice, arguing with the teacher, or trying to convert her car to a biodiesel, I wanted to know more. Over the rumbling drone of the lawnmower, I heard the sharp clanging of metal hitting the ground, followed by a steady stream of expletives. Chuckling, I cut the engine and sprinted next door to investigate._

"_Jesus!" Christina exclaimed as she backed into me. "You _really _like popping up unannounced," she finished, bending over to pick up another tool._

"_You sounded like you were having some trouble," I shrugged._

"_Maybe you shouldn't eavesdrop," she accused._

"_I wasn't eavesdropping," I said. "I just happened to overhear you breaking something . . . and yelling."_

"_Right," she bit as she rolled her eyes._

"_You know, it's not my fault that you have a potty mouth. If you don't want people to hear you, maybe you should close the garage door," I advised._

"_So that I could die of carbon monoxide poisoning," she quipped. "I don't think so." _

_I helped her pick up everything off the floor as we settled into a comfortable silence. "You've been working on this for a while," I noted, trying to make conversation._

"_And your point is…" she said._

"_Nothing, just making an observation," I shrugged._

_She sighed dramatically. "You're not going to try to talk me out of this are you? Because my mom already tried…and failed. Several times."_

"_I don't think I could even if I wanted to," I laughed._

"_Good answer," she said._

"_How have you been getting to school?" I asked._

"_Ugh," she groaned. "I've been taking the bus. My mom won't let me touch her car since I 'destroyed mine'," she jeered, making air quotes._

"_I'll give you a ride tomorrow," I said, not anticipating the argument that would ensue._

"_I'm not a charity case you know," she said._

"_I know, I was just offering to help . . ."_

"_I'm perfectly fine taking the bus," she affirmed. Rather unconvincingly I might add. "Besides, public transportation is good."_

"_You don't like the school bus?" I asked._

"_It gets here way too early," she shrugged._

"_Christina, you're being absolutely ridiculous. I live right next door . . ."_

"_But - " she started._

"_It'd make me feel a lot less guilty driving my 'gas guzzler'," I said, knowing I had her with my next point. "Carpooling is good too."_

"_Fine," she relented as I rejoice internally. "But," she added making me halt instantly. "As soon as my car is up and running again, we take my car to school."_

"_Deal," I smiled as we shook hands. Christina was definitely crazy. What kind of girl takes twenty minutes to accept her neighbor's offer to drive her to school when they're going to the same place? I didn't risk saying this out loud, especially considering she had a monkey wrench in hand. After all, she was still dangerous too._

**Tom POV **_Present Day_

I tried not to let it show just how much Christina pretending to be some random patient's husband annoyed me. I know that she was only trying to help him, and being the Joan of Arc that she is, she went along with it. Everyone took it as a joke. I mean, I understood it as such; it was obviously just a mix up; a disoriented man suffering brain injuries mistook her for his wife. Then why was it that watching her dote over this man bothered me so? I had no right to feel this way. Christina wasn't mine. I had no claim on her. And maybe if I had, claimed her as my own that is, she wouldn't have left all those years ago. Maybe _I _would be the one she'd be being so affectionate with right now. Under different circumstances of course.

As I grabbed Mr. Bernard's chart from the plastic box bolted to the wall outside his room, I noticed Christina was still in there with him. One hand was in his, and the other was stroking his forehead. He looked up at her lovingly as she spoke softly to him. And when she smiled that pretty smile of hers at him, I saw red. She didn't even notice me standing in the doorway. I wasn't thinking clearly, and I knew I was bound to stick my foot in my mouth.

**Christina POV **_Present Day_

I could feel Tom standing in the doorway. It kind of unnerved me that after all this time, I could sense when he was near. But Fred needed me more, so I stayed by his side, waiting for Tom to announce himself.

"May I speak to you for a moment," he said, his voice tight.

"Sure - " I started before he cut me off.

"Outside," he continued, not even waiting to see if I had followed him.

"Is there a problem?" I asked, trying to keep _my _anger in check. His attitude was not sitting well with me at all.

"There's always a problem when it comes to you," he said. "Don't sound surprised."

"Unfortunately that's the truth," I admitted, "so no, I'm not surprised. What astounds me however, is your attitude right now."

"Christina, you're in there pretending to be some man's _wife_," he scolded.

"The _helpful_ wife. The _loving_ wife. The _dutiful_ wife," I spat. "What can I say, it's a role I play very well," I shrugged.

"This goes against hospital protocol," he protested. "You're out of line."

"Since when did you give a damn about protocol?" I hissed. "I'm trying to help a patient."

"I'm still trying to figure out who needs more help; him or you? Who are you _really _helping here Christina?"

I narrowed my eyes at him in disbelief. How dare he go as far as to insinuate such a thing?

"You're not his wife," he accused.

"I know that!" I snapped.

"Do you?" he asked.

"Now who's the one that's out of line?" I responded as I walked away from him.

I returned to Fred's room where one of the interns was seeing him off to the OR. Standing in the empty room, I silently prayed that he would be okay. There was no way I'd be able to tell this woman that her husband had died without her even having the chance to say goodbye to him.

* * *

"He was being a real jerk," I vented to my other best friend. Tom may have had a point, I thought, as much as I hated to admit it, but he didn't have to go about it so unkindly.

"I really don't think you breaking yet another one of the hospital's rules is what's got his panties in a twist," Bobbie said.

"Then what the hell is his problem?" I shrieked.

"You really don't know?" she laughed. "Christina, you know all the inner workings of everything that goes down here at all times, and you can't figure out what's bugging Tom? I swear you are so oblivious to what is right in front of you."

I was about to demand an explanation when a commotion began to stir in the ER, causing both of us to spring into action.

"What do we have here?" I asked.

"Patient crashed on the way to the OR," Dr. Spitzer said.

Shit. It was Fred. I cleared away from the railing as the doctor charged the defibrillator and watched in horror as his heart rate and bp continued to plummet.

"Charge to three hundred," Spitzer ordered. "Clear!" Fred's body rose off the bed in reaction to the electric shock, but his heart continued to fail. "That's it," Dr. Spitzer said after his third attempt. I'm calling time."

Pushing him aside, I grabbed the paddles and ordered a recharge, with no response from Fred. "Again," I barked, as everybody stared. "Charge to 360, damn it! Clear!"

I felt a pair of strong arms envelope me and I struggled to break free of their hold. "Christina, he's gone," I heard Tom say. I flailed and thrashed about to no avail. The steady beep of him flat lining burned my ears as I fought back a scream. I couldn't let Fred die.

"He's back!" Bobbie shouted. "Blood pressure 60/40 and climbing!"

I released a breath I didn't notice I was holding.

"Keep her under control," Dr. Spitzer told Tom. "She's crazy!"

I gave Tom a disapproving glare and tore away from his grasp.

I watched Lindsey sit attentively by Fred's side. Needless to say, I was happy that the operation was a success and that he was getting better slowly but surely. While I was also happy that I was able to do for Lindsey what no one was able to do for me, this case hit too close to home. I felt myself getting sucked into the past, and ran out of the room as fast as my legs could carry me. I needed air.

* * *

"Am I fired?" I asked, my voice echoing off the vast expanse that was the rooftop.

"You saved a guy's life, so you get a free pass. This time," Tom answered.

"Are you anticipating a next time?" I inquired, causing him to smile at me for the first time in what seemed like forever. My heart softened. I much preferred this side of him to the one that yelled at me.

"Not exactly," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Listen, I'm sorry for the way I reacted earlier. I went too far…"

"No," I interrupted. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. You called me out on my bullshit when no one else would, so thank you. Goes to show how well you still know me," I said. "The truth of the matter is, it felt _good_ to feel needed again. To feel wanted," I admitted. "To play that part again. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever play that part again – for real, you know?"

"I do," Tom agreed. "More than you could ever imagine," he muttered.

"It reminded me of old times," I sighed. "Except they got a happier ending," I shrugged.

"You can still get your happy ending, Christina," Tom said softly.

I wanted nothing more than to believe him. Tom never gave me reason not to. But how could I live happily ever after when my husband was dead? Granted it's been over a year. I just couldn't escape Michael's memory, and I felt guilty for wanting to. He haunted my dreams at night. And every morning when I looked into my daughter's face, I saw more and more of him. While I realized a long time ago that part of me died with him, I was still here. I was living and breathing and causing trouble at the hospital. Looking up at Tom, I couldn't help but feel for the first time that maybe, just maybe, I _could _have my happy ending.

* * *

**Tom POV **_Fall 1989_

"_I should probably get back to work," Christina sighed._

"_Do you mind if I help?" I asked. _

"_Um, sure," she conceded. "As long as you don't mind music while you work," she said. My mom says I have a disorder. I can't do_ anything _without listening to music. Whether it's washing the dishes, or doing my homework, there has to be something playing. It helps me focus, and keeps my interest in the task at hand I guess. I get bored and distracted a lot."_

_I chuckled. That made sense; it suited her personality. At least what I knew of her personality thus far. "No problem," I said as she put the CD in the sound system. "No record player today?"_

"_You're very observant," she smiled. I didn't think myself as a particularly observant person, but I guess in a sense I was. With most people, I didn't have to work hard to read them. I've found that if I don't say much, the other person does all the talking. You learn more about people by just listening. That wasn't the case with Christina, however. It seemed like nothing she did had any rhyme or reason, at least not an obvious one, so I catalogued everything I noticed about her. Every detail was yet another clue to the mystery that she was._

"_It's over in the corner. I don't have this album in vinyl," she explained. "And today is feeling like a very Nana day." _

_The singer's voice sounded very familiar, but I couldn't quite pin it. "Who's this?" I asked._

"_Nana Mouskouri," she said. "She's - "_

"_Greek," I finished for her. Now I remembered. My grandma used to play her records all the time._

"_Finally!" she yelled. "Someone who shares my enthusiasm for something other than grunge rock," she laughed. "Don't get me wrong. I love Alice in Chains as much as the next guy. But there's so much more cool stuff out there," she rambled. "Pass me the spanner wrench?"_

_I looked hopelessly through the mountain of metal in the box next to me before admitting, "You know I haven't the slightest clue as to what that is, right?"_

"_It doesn't actually look like a wrench," she said. "It's this black, bridge looking thingie with two screws in it."_

"_Bridge?" I echoed, amused when I found it._

"_I'm not much of a mechanic, if you haven't already noticed," she joked. "So I have to make up pictures for everything to help me remember what's what."_

"_And what does the spanner wrench do?" I asked, intrigued._

"_It," she demonstrated, "removes and installs the ring that holds the fuel pump to the gas tank."_

"_Where'd you get all this stuff?"_

"_Mike's shop," she shrugged._

"_Couldn't you just take the car in and have him do it for you?" I posed._

"_Where's the fun in that?" Christina said. "Has anybody told you that you ask a lot of questions?"_

"_Sorry. I'm just curious I guess," I apologized._

"_Curiosity killed the cat," she mused. "But, in the words of Einstein, it is a miracle that it's survived formal education; which you've had plenty of I'm sure. So you're forgiven."_

"_Thank you?" I said, only it came out as more of a question. Meanwhile, I was just happy to be in her good graces._

_She laughed. "You know what, I've had enough of fixing the car for today. And it's getting really hot out here," she added, fanning herself. "Do you want to come inside?"_

"_Sure," I answered, following her into the kitchen where she washed her hands before pouring two glasses of lemonade._

"_I'm going to go wash the car grease off of me. You can wait for me in my room," she offered. _

"_Okay," I agreed. Walking past the family room and through the living room, we happened upon a piano near the staircase I hadn't noticed the last time I had been over for dinner. "Do you play?" I asked, gesturing towards the old instrument._

"_You could say that," she chuckled. "I'd always loved the piano, and bugged my mom about taking lessons_ forever. _So finally for my 10__th__ birthday she takes me to this music center where I started taking lessons from old man John. I drove him crazy, to put it lightly. I never observed the 5-finger position, and my fingering was a mess. I didn't care if my thumb went under my middle finger or not, as long as I got the notes right. The fact that I didn't like keeping my nails uber short, so they kept clicking on the keys didn't help either. Then it got kinda hard keeping lessons up with my crazy schedule, so I quit a year later. Most of what I do now I taught myself. I'm no Tchaikovsky, but I manage," she shrugged. _

"_Is he your favorite?" I wondered aloud._

"_I have too many that I like to pick one," she said. "I like Mozart even though people pinned him as a madman. I just think he was ahead of his time. Then there's Saint-Saëns, and Gottschalk. Not to mention Chopin and Debussy. If I had to pick a particular period, it would probably be either Romantic or Impressionistic."_

_It made perfect sense. Her taste in classical music very much reflected her personality. She preferred composers that transcended the boundaries of typical western music established in the baroque era of the renaissance. And I told her as such._

"_You really are something, Tom," she smiled, as she led the way up the stairs._

_She hesitated outside what I assumed to be her bedroom door, but she opened it anyway. I wasn't wrong in thinking that her taste in music reflected her personality, however everything in her room screamed Christina. What I could actually see of her walls was painted a bright green, and one wall was entirely covered in pictures. At the other end of the space was a massive bookshelf that wrapped around to cover two walls, floor to ceiling. I trailed my fingers along some of the spines perusing titles and authors. From Tolstoy, to Orwell, Hugo to Al Green, there were shelves upon shelves of books and music._

"_You have more vinyl in here than a record store," I noted._

"_I ran out of room on the shelves so there are some more in boxes under my bed and up in the attic," she shrugged._

"_You don't like using CDs?" I asked._

"_I do. I have a CD collection and a cassette collection stashed somewhere, but I like vinyl better. They make me feel like part of something else, you know? Like, it gives me a connection to a past I'll never see," she sighed, her eyes sparkling._

_I continued to stare at everything, taking in her bed in the middle of the fourth wall. The iron-wrought headboard wove an intricate pattern that disappeared below her mattress that was covered in a yellow bedding set dotted with tiny flowers. _

"_You have Christmas lights on your footboard," I chuckled, watching the little white lights twinkle._

"_Everyday should be like Christmas, don't you think?" she shrugged._

_To one side of her bed was what seemed like a stuffed animal collection, and to the other side was an old gramophone that had to be at least 75 years old. Propped up next to it was a . . ._ mandolin_?_

"_I don't exactly shop at the Pottery Barn, much to my mom's dismay. I redecorated last year. Most of what's in here I got at random thrift shops, or I made myself," she explained. "Like this red blob looking thingie that I put all of my jewelry in I got at this pawn shop for _two dollars_. It's actually a bowl that was made by an Italian glass blower, Lino Tagliapietra. He made this back in the '50s, and when I looked him up I found out that his work was actually pretty valuable elsewhere. I can thank American ignorance for not catching on yet, or else I wouldn't have been able to buy it," she chuckled. _

_I smiled, thinking how my mom actually had some Tagliapietra at home. She discovered his work when we went to visit my dad in Italy, and if it weren't for his connections probably would have paid thousands for it. _

"_Did you make your bookshelf?"_

"_I wish I could say that I did. I picked out the wood and the finish," she said. "And I helped put in the bottom shelves, but I didn't have much luck with the top ones," she frowned. "I _did_ however make the clothes on this mannequin," she said, pointing out the figure standing near her closet. "My mom got me into sewing. She says my taste in clothing is too eclectic for department stores so it'd help if I started making my own stuff. What she _didn't_ mention is how much work it takes, so I only have a few that I've_ _actually made."_

_She disappeared into her closet, which instead of a door had a curtain of beads that waved about. Coming out with a towel and an armful of clothes she said, "I'll be right back. The other bathroom's at the end of the hall to your left if you need it."_

_I listened as her movements faded behind the soft click of a door right outside her room. Looking at her wall of pictures, I studied as many as I could; her with different friends, at different events, and some just of random subjects. I noticed a small table with several different cameras on it. So she was into photography too. _

_Everything in her room was so spontaneous, so_ interesting. _But it all fit, nothing looked_ _out of place. Nothing about this room was like that of the average teenager's. And then again, nothing about her was normal either. As the steady hum of the shower continued next door, I couldn't help but wonder who_ was_ this crazy girl who made her own clothes and admired Chopin? I also couldn't help the smile that took over my face. Because I wanted to know more._

**Christina POV **_Fall 1989_

_I didn't hate change, I really didn't. Change was good. Our small suburb off of Richmond, Virginia didn't see much excitement, so I should've been all excited about the new family moving next door, right? From a different continent, no less. My mom and Amélie got along really well, which was cool, and Tom was alright, albeit a bit more reserved than I was used to. What_ wasn't_ cool was how everyone at school hailed him_ _as some kind of god. People treated him like a shiny new toy, and girls giggled about him as if Vanilla Ice just walked on campus. Sure he was really nice to me, and tried to talk to me on more than one occasion. But I refused to give him any special treatment to fodder his probably gargantuan ego. Until I discovered today that he had none. And hell if I didn't admire him for his tenacity. I'm pretty sure Amber had already gotten to him and warned him all about big bad old me. People didn't have to guess hard to know what I was thinking, and she was one of the unfortunate few who had been on the receiving end; I was really bad about blurting just about anything that came to mind. But something drew me to Tom's calm demeanor, and I wanted to know more of what went on in that quiet head of his. Anybody who could appreciate Nana Mouskouri and Chopin was good in my book. So maybe Tom wasn't so bad after all, I mused as I shut off the water. I had a feeling we could be really good friends. And that thought made me dangerously giddy._


	4. Chapter 3

**Tom Pov **_Present Day_

I was swamped. Christina was nowhere to be seen or heard, and this place was an absolute mess without her. I was hoping that she was just running late, and tried calling her several times on her home phone and her cell. But I wasn't getting through. Quite frankly I was getting worried.

I let out a sigh of relief when I saw her blaze through the hallway, as was her usual style, with an unhappy looking Camille in tow.

"Alright, thank you," I rushed, trying to get off the phone with the pharmacist.

"This is so unfair!" Camille yelled, as Christina pulled her into her office.

"I need to talk to you," I said to Christina. "Hey Camille," I added.

"I am a prisoner," Camille said dramatically.

"No, _she_ is failing _English_. Quite surprising since she was, oh I don't know, _born and raised here_?" Christina hissed.

"Shakespeare is not English. '_If we spirits have offended_,'" Camille whined in a British accent. "I mean who talks like that?"

"Let's see Oberon, Titania, Puck, Mustardseed, Peasselblossom…" she said, listing the fairies from Shakespeare's play.

"How do you remember this stuff?" Camille muttered.

"By turning in essays when my teachers asked me to," Christina answered.

"Well actually - " I started.

"You, zip it!" Christina hissed pointing at me.

"Anyways, the real reason I got an F on that stupid essay is because Mr. Miller is a fascist," Camille retorted. I laughed thinking that were she in the same position, Christina would say the same exact thing.

"_Fascist_?" Christina echoed incredulously. "And what exactly do you know about fascism? I should send you to Cuba. Or better yet North Korea. You failed that assignment because you turned in a _rap_ on _Shakespeare_, not a paper."

"It was a good rap," Camille said.

"Oh yeah, it was a good rap," Christina taunted. "I didn't know I had Lil' Kim for a daughter. Camille, what am I going to do with you?"

"Pat me on the back and congratulate me on trying to think outside the box?" she shrugged.

"That was a rhetorical question," Christina sighed, running her hands over her face.

"Mom - " Camille started.

"I mean it Camille, you're not leaving this office until that essay is done," she warned as she stepped out into the hallway with me.

"I want a social worker," she called out after her mother.

"And I want world peace and a cranberry vodka. But I see neither happening in the near future, so you're just kinda stuck here," she smiled sarcastically.

"Yes Dr. Wakefield," she breathed in an oddly calm voice.

"What's with you?" I asked, startled by, although by now I should know better than to be startled by Christina, her sudden change in demeanor.

"Well," she huffed. "This morning I found out that I've maxed out my credit card, can't change a tire, and my daughter is flunking the 10th grade."

"So you can convert your car to a biodiesel, but you can't change a tire?" I chuckled.

"Well contrary to popular belief I am _not_ superwoman. I know how to change a tire. It's the _doing _part that gets a little hairy," she said. "Cars are heavy. You try operating a jack when you're only 5'3, are desperately trying not to ruin your work clothes because you really don't have time for another trip home, plus a mouthy teenager on board. Yeah, it's not pretty."

"Well I wouldn't exactly say superwoman," I started. "Maybe Wonder Woman," I teased.

"That's practically the same thing," she said.

"Spider-Girl?" I suggested.

She laughed. "Okay there nerd-boy." "What did I miss?" she asked

"Other than the hospital nearly running into the ground in the few hours you were missing?"

"That bad huh," she frowned.

"We have a neuro patient that just got out of the OR," I explained.

"Cingulotomy?" she guessed.

"Nope, cordotomy," I corrected.

"Ooo. How'd that go?" she asked.

"Well, he's alive."

"Okay," she said.

"But barely," I added. "He needs to get set up in ICU."

"ICU's full."

"So I've been told," I said. "Do you think you could bump somebody?"

"Eddie Ramos is supposed to meet me about taking his mom off of her life support in a little bit," she said.

"Do you think he'll actually show this time?" I asked, skeptical.

"I don't know," she sighed.

"Would you like me to come with you?" I offered.

"Would you?" she pleaded.

"Yeah," I said.

"You're so sweet," she exclaimed. "You know you'll make some lucky girl a _very_ happy woman some day.

I laughed thinking I had always envisioned that for her. Only the lucky guy wasn't me.

* * *

"I can't do it," Eddie sniffled as Christina rubbed his hand comfortingly.

"Yes you can," Christina reassured him. "We've been over this already. Let's just go inside and - "

"No!" he exclaimed. "I can't go in there."

"Mr. Ramos, you do realize that no brain activity means that there is no chance for recovery," I cut in.

"I know, I know. I just don't understand how I can just . . . end it. I know she wants me to, but I just need some more time. Please, just give me until tomorrow," he pleaded.

I sighed internally knowing that Christina would give this man until next year if he asked.

"Okay, Eddie," she caved. "Twenty four hours, that's all you get."

"Oh thank you, Christina," he cried, crushing her in a bear hug.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Christina said, patting his back one last time.

"Thank you so much," he said again. "Thank you, doctor."

She sighed before turning to give me an apologetic look.

"Christina, you're making promises that you can't keep," I warned.

"I know, I know," she groaned. "But I intend to make good on this one."

"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" I questioned.

"I have no clue," she admitted. "But I'll come up with something."

"You always do," I added, shaking my head.

* * *

"You put her in a closet?" I exclaimed. Here I was, thinking that I could get through my rounds with no trouble. I had no surgeries scheduled for today, and had hoped that I would find Christina, she'd tell me they moved someone from ICU, and settle the neuro case, getting on with the rest of my day.

Well for one I found Christina, so of course the "no trouble" part would never be a reality.

"Storage closet," she corrected.

"Yeah, because that sounds so much better," I said.

"I think so," she shrugged.

"So I'm guessing this is where I tell you that you're out of your mind," I started.

"Am I?"

"Try and argue with you."

"Now, that sounds familiar," she said.

"Tell you that you can't do this," I continued.

"Mhm."

"Then you say, 'whoops too late it's already done'," I finished.

"You know me so well," she smiled sarcastically.

"So I'll skip that part," I said.

"What a guy," she teased.

I laughed. "It's beautiful." And it really was. Somehow, by roping in half of the hospital staff I'm sure, she managed to turn this unused storage closet, that had been home to broken and defective hospital equipment, into a quite homey room; complete with lighting, a ventilator, and pale blue curtains.

* * *

**Tom POV **_Winter 1989_

_After a rather _interesting _Thanksgiving at Christina's house, December has finally descended. The whole student body was on edge, not only in anticipation of a much needed Christmas break, but for the upcoming Winter Formal. _

_Christina's car was up and running, and we drove to and from school together every morning. We talked about everything from music and favorite cartoon characters, to what teacher was currently driving us up a wall. But I enjoyed her company. She didn't obsess over the fact that I was "new", like most of the other students had when I first started here; although the novelty was finally starting to wear off, thank God. I even helped her make her runs to various fast food chains to get used vegetable oil to fill her car. Christina was thrilled when I came up with that idea. Not only was that oil free, she was recycling it since most restaurant owners throw out the stale grease after a day's worth of frying._

"_Okay, so I officially _love _your mom," Christina sighed as she climbed out of the car, pulling on the jacket my mom gave her. _

_I laughed, considering this wasn't the first time she'd said that. Christina was like the daughter that my mother never had. My mom enjoyed having someone to squeal about clothing with, since I would shrug whenever she'd come ask me about a skirt or top. It seemed she would come up with any excuse to invite her over, not that I minded; whether it was making her favorite desert, or renting some movie that Christina just _had _to see. The two of them would raid my mom's closet for hours. She was lucky Christina liked 'experimenting', as she liked to say._

"_Are you sure you want that?" my mother had asked her yesterday afternoon. "I was just going to throw it away. It's getting pretty old and it's hard to find things that go well with it."_

"_Even better," Christina said. "Now it's vintage. I'll find something to wear it with to school on Monday."_

"_This blazer is so cute! I can't believe your mom was going to throw it away," Christina exclaimed, pulling me out of my reverie._

_I walked her to her locker and waited for her to get her books so that we could go to chemistry._

"_Good morning teachers and students," Mrs. Stroope's familiar voice echoed over the PA system."I hope you all had a restful weekend, and are looking forward to another great week," she droned. "I am sorry to announce that the Winter Formal has been canceled."_

_A chorus of "what?" and "why?" sounded throughout the hallway as the students groaned and grumbled at the news._

"_All tickets will be refunded in the cafeteria during lunch," she continued. "That'll be all. Have a great Monday."_

"_That sucks," I said._

"_Poor Heather," Christina cooed. "I've gotta go."_

"_Wait, where are you going?" I asked as she took off in the opposite direction of our 1__st__ hour._

"_I'll catch up with you later," she called behind her._

_First block came and went, as did second and third, and still no sign of Christina. As I followed the sea of students in the cafeteria, I couldn't help but think that I needed a homing device for her. She was never stationary for long, and more often than not, I found myself chasing after her, and getting stuck in yet another one of her messes. Or maybe they could come up with some portable phone, so I could call her when I needed to._

"_Hello? Is this thing on?" I heard Christina's voice crackle. Only ten times louder than it normally was, even when she was excited. I followed everyone's eyes to the center of the lunchroom, where Christina was standing on top of one of the tables, a megaphone in hand. 'What in the world was she up to now?' I thought as I pushed my way through the crowd._

"_Hi everyone," she greeted. "Well, I guess I'll just cut to the chase. The Winter Formal is _not _canceled. I repeat it's _not _canceled," she announced. "See you this Saturday," she smiled as everyone cheered._

"_What are you doing?" I whispered as I helped her off the table. "You heard what Principal Stroope said."_

_Before she could answer, Heather Biblow came running towards us, her heels clicking on the linoleum. "Christina, I appreciate the help and all, but what are you doing?"_

"_I'm saving you from impeachment…and from your social life going down the tubes," Christina said as she led us to the courtyard outside._

"_How are we going to pull off a whole dance by Saturday?" Heather asked. "I've been planning this for months."_

"_Cool it Heather," Christina said. "Just let me know what we're working with."_

"_Well, I _was_ going to call the DJ and tell him that the gig was off, but I haven't done that yet."_

"_Great, music, check," Christina said._

"_But we have no venue. The hotel double booked the ballroom, and I wasn't about to tell the bride to be she wasn't going to be able to have her wedding reception," Heather rambled. "And the company I ordered decorations from said that they wouldn't be in until next week, so I told them to forget it. Oh and we don't have food because the hotel staff was going to cater."_

"_So we have no place, no decorations and no food, got it." Christina nodded._

"_Christina, just forget it there's no way we'll be able to - " Heather started just as the bell rang. "Crap, I gotta go, my next class is all the way at the other end of campus."_

"_Do you need to go to your locker before we go to gym?" I asked._

"_Oh Tom, you're a genius!" she shouted as she hugged me tightly. She grabbed my hand and I let her drag me into building three. "I could just kiss you right now," she smiled. "But I won't, because _I _have a plan!"_

"_Okay?" I said awkwardly._

"_Do you think you could hitch a ride home?" she asked, as she grabbed her gym clothes out of her locker. "I need to talk to Principal Stroope after school, and I'll probably have to make a bagillion pit stops before I actually go home," she rattled._

"_Sure no problem," I answered._

_I didn't see much of Christina for the remainder of the week. I mean I saw her in the classes that we had together, but she was always the last one in, and the first one out. If I happened to run into her in the hallways, or when I was taking the trash out at home, it was always 'catch you later, Tom!', or 'sorry, can't talk, gotta run!' And every morning that I'd stop by before school, her mom will have told me that she already left. I mean, I knew she was working on the dance; I had seen the flyers about it being held in the gym, to which many people scoffed. But I missed riding to school in the 'veggie mobile', and our morning conversations. I missed having her over at my house every afternoon, doing homework until her mom got back from work. I guess I just missed _her_, plain and simple. Thankfully before I knew it, Saturday had descended, and I found myself mulling about the house, bored out of my mind._

"_Thomas, chérie," my mom called as she knocked on my door._

"_Come in," I said._

"_Honey, it's almost five and you haven't left your room all day," she frowned. "Are you okay?"_

"_I'm fine, mom. There's just nothing to do," I shrugged._

"_Well you have that dance to go to later tonight," she reminded me. I nodded in response. "Why don't you invite Christina over for dinner?" she suggested. "I haven't seen her in a while."_

"_Okay," I answered. I called Christina's line but she didn't pick up. I peeked through my window, the one that gave me access to Christina's room, and noticed that she indeed wasn't in there. But her car was in her driveway. I was about to run next door when in my periphery I noticed a figure perched on the roof._

"_Christina?" I hollered, sticking my head out the window. I shielded my eyes with my hand so I could get a better look of her against the glare of the sun. I didn't even want to know how she got up there._

"_Oh, hey Tom!" she yelled back._

"_What are you doing?" I asked._

"_I just thought I'd get a head start on this weekend's homework," she said._

"_From up there?"_

"_I needed the fresh air," she explained. "I didn't like being cooped up in my room. Besides, the view from up here is pretty awesome."_

"_Come over for dinner?" I offered._

"_Sure," she said. "Just give me a sec."_

_I closed my window and ran downstairs to tell my mom that Christina would be here any minute. By the time the doorbell rang, the table was already set, and my mom was setting the last dish on the table._

"_Good evening," Christina called out after I let her in. She took off her boots and her coat and my mom swept her up in a hug._

"_Come, come, sit," my mom instructed. "You haven't been by in a while."_

"_Yeah, I've been busy," she said as she helped herself to the pasta my mom made._

"_How's your mother?"_

"_Oh you know, at work as usual," Christina sighed._

"_Are you going to the dance later?" I asked._

"_I don't think so. It's not really my scene," she shrugged._

"_Then why did you put so much work into it?" I questioned._

"_Because Heather poured her heart and soul into that project, and she's my friend," she answered. She had a point there. One thing I'd learned about Christina early on was that she was always willing to help people, especially those that were close to her, and Heather was no different – as odd a duo as they were. Heather Biblow, class president and the school's 'it' girl, and Christina Stevens the – well there weren't words that described her concisely. When I had asked her about it, she had said simply that people aren't always what they seemed and that she was a good friend. "She was bugging me about going all yesterday," she continued._

"_Well, why don't you?" my mom asked._

"_I didn't buy a ticket," she started._

"_You can get one at the door," I said._

"_And I don't feel like digging through my closet in search of a 'suitable' dress," she added._

"_I have something that I happened across just the other day and I think it would look marvelous on you," my mom piped up. "Come on, I'll show you," she said, placing her napkin on the table. "Tom, dear, would you mind putting the plates in the sink?"_

"_Why not," I said to the air, since they had already disappeared into my mother's room. Moments later, she reemerged with a garment bag in tow._

"_So I take it you're going?" I guessed._

"_Yeah. I'm going over to Heather's to get ready. She's going to be _so_ excited that I decided to go!" she squealed. "I'll see you at the dance," she said, hugging me, before grabbing her coat. _

"_Thanks for dinner and the dress Mrs. W!" she yelled over her shoulder._

_She was out the door before I could even respond. "Yeah, later."_

_No one who stepped into the gym tonight would ever recognize it as the same room where we met for P.E. every day. The court was covered in fake snow, and cold fog swirled around my ankles. White Christmas lights bordered the ceiling as well as the floor and pretty paper lamps hung from the ceilings, casting a nice glow about the room. Aside from the blaring music and bobbing heads, this place really _did_ look like a winter wonderland. _

_I felt a light tap on my shoulder and turned around, nearly doing a double take._

"_What do you think?" Christina asked as she twirled, her arms extended in a questioning pose._

"_W-wow," I stammered. "You look - "_

"_What?" Christina asked, making me realize I hadn't finished my sentence._

"_Nothing," I said. "You look _really _pretty." She looked beautiful and then some. Let's just say my mom was right about the dress._

"_Well, I kinda meant the room, but thanks for the compliment," she laughed. "Heather did a good job."_

_While she did look different, she still looked like Christina, if that made any sense. And it wasn't the makeup that made her look so beautiful. After all, my mom always said that make up can't make a woman look good. It can make her _feel_ good, but that beauty is natural. Well, she had said that to me after I had brought Aurélie over in the eighth grade, but I had never understood what she meant until now. Christina looked just as pretty all done up as she did dressed down._

"_The gym looks great," I said. "You did a really good job with the place."_

"_Do you like my snowmen?" she asked, pointing to the white figures over in the corner. "They're made out of Styrofoam, but don't tell anybody that."_

"_Christina, I can't believe you wouldn't let me see this until tonight. How did you pull all of this off?" Heather squealed over the music._

"_Let's see. Well, I kinda conned Jake into getting his dad to let us borrow the lights from the country club. Don't ask me how. And as for the fog, I was just gonna do dry ice, but I found a machine at that really creepy party store on Elm St. Oh and I'm kind of a regular down at the bakery, so when I told Mr. Moore I needed . . ."_

* * *

**Tom POV **_Present Day_

"You're remarkable," I smiled. I mean honestly, who else would've thought to do something like this. Or better yet have the gall to actually go through with it. Once Morrissey caught wind of this . . . "But you're still crazy."

"And dangerous," she winked.

I took my buzzing phone out of my lab coat pocket.

_S.O.S.! – C_.

_Where are you? _I quickly typed in reply.

_Mrs. Ramos' "room". – C_

"What is it?"

"So apparently Eddie has a sister, and unfortunately they are _nothing _alike. She wants to take her off the life support!" Christina hissed.

"That's a problem?" I sighed.

"I promised Eddie, Tom. And his twenty four hours aren't up," she said.

"I'll make a few calls," I said, pulling out my cell phone. "You try Eddie again."

We spent the next ten minutes pacing and shouting into our respective phones. Until I looked and saw a _very _unhappy Morrissey storming our way.

"Uh oh, spaghettiohs," I said, yanking Christina's jacket in an effort to warn her that John was on the warpath. "Do you think he's mad?" I whispered.

"A little," she answered. "Somewhere between Elmer Fudd everytime he tried and failed at killing Bugs Bunny and when my mom found out Dave Koz was gay."

I stifled a laugh. This situation was certainly no laughing matter.

"It is my understanding that a patient's proxy orders has been violated," Morrissey said.

"We were just reviewing – "

"There's nothing to review. Her wishes were very clear. It's all in black and white."

"Yeah, but – " Christina started. I silenced her with a warning glare. Surely we'd be in a lot more trouble if she were to go off on him now.

"What is this?" Morrissey barked. "Are you having trouble handling this _nurse_?"

"Excuse me?" Christina demanded.

"I'm more than sure that our Chief Nursing Officer is plenty capable of 'handling' herself," I said before she could continue.

"Really?" he asked. "Then why am I here?"

"I don't know John. Enlighten me, why exactly _are _you here?" I countered.

"I'm making sure this hospital doesn't get slapped with a malpractice suit for putting a life support patient in a broom closet. Now you go in there and pull that plug," he ordered. "Now."

**Christina POV **_Present Day_

I'd held Mrs. Ramos' hand until it grew cold and limp in mine. The morgue had long since transported her, but I was still standing near her now empty bed. "I'm sorry I got you into all of this," I apologized.

"I got myself into this. I could've easily said no," he said. While what he said made sense, I knew it wasn't completely true. I knew that Tom would follow me to the ends of the earth if I wanted him to, but what I didn't know was why.

"I don't know why it's so hard to say goodbye to people you love," I sniffled, thinking back to how hard it had been to say goodbye to Tom leaving the summer after senior year, and how hard it was to say goodbye to Michael. "I've seen this time and time again. I'm a nurse for goodness sake. Yet every time we lose someone," I paused, wiping my eyes, "it's like I'm seeing it for the first time." "Listen to me," I chuckled. "I sound like Kelly right now."

"You care," Tom said. "That's why it's always so hard."

He always knew just what to say.

"Do you need some help taking this down?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "And Tom?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

* * *

**Christina POV **_Winter 1989_

_I was surprised at just how much fun I was having, and found myself dancing like an idiot along with everyone else. While our DJ wasn't exactly Tone Loc, he had a mean spin. And hell if a nice MJ track couldn't get everyone in a groove. I spent most of the night dancing circles around Tom, who looked like he was having fun too, even if he wasn't very good at some of the dances; I made a mental note to teach him before another event like this. If only my mom could hear me now, contemplating going to another one of these things. Of course she was pulling another all-nighter at the hospital, but she'd be laughing at me for sure. Normally I was the one ranting about how overrated this all was, but it felt good to – let loose._

"_See that wasn't so bad," Tom teased._

"_Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said, waving him off. The air outside was cold and quiet and I could hear my heels clicking against the pavement, a stark contrast to the heat and excitement that was going on inside. "Thank you again for convincing me to go. I had a really good time." _

"_Yeah me too," he smiled._

_I waited for him to fish his keys out of his pocket and leaned against the passenger side door. Heat rose to my face. He was standing really close to me all of a sudden, and my mind was clouding. He leaned in closer and . . . opened my door for me._

"_You okay there?" Tom asked, frowning as he started the car._

"_Yeah, just tired," I answered. Well, that was partially true. _

"_We'll be home soon," he reassured, pulling out of the school's parking lot. _

"_Tom," I yawned after a few moments of silence. "Why didn't you bring a date?" But I was already fast asleep before he got the chance to answer. My last coherent thought was how handsome I thought he looked in that suit._

_How I ended up in my bed last night was a mystery, I thought as I blinked at the light filtering into my bedroom. Padding over to my bathroom, groaning at how sore I was after a night of dancing, I noticed that my makeup was removed, my hair was unpinned, but I still had my dress on. Starting the shower, and dashing back to my room to grab a warm pair of sweats, I smiled as I read the elegant scrawl on the piece of paper on my bed._

_Didn't want to wake you. I hope you don't mind that I carried you to your room. Your shoes are under your bed. _

_-Tom_

_P.S. You're a really heavy sleeper. Really peaceful too. Peaceful and_ silent_._


	5. Chapter 4

**Tom POV **_Present Day_

"Ok, I'll get right on it," I said, dismissing the woman from my office. This was the second social worker sent my way in the last half hour. Something about Christina not letting them do their job. Normally I would've already checked up on her by now, but things seemed to be going pretty smoothly. No major hubbub in the ER, save for the two crash victims brought in earlier. I should've known that things have been too quiet here all day.

I chuckled as I watched another child services agent corner an unsuspecting Christina at the nurses' station.

"How much longer do you think it'll be?" the pencil neck asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Christina shrugged. "What do you think Bobbie?"

Bobbie shot her a menacing glare, most likely for her dragging her into something that would probably get quite messy later, before answering: "could be a while."

"Yes, yes," Christina agreed. "Quite a while."

Pencil neck obviously didn't buy it, but he retreated anyway. "I'll be back later."

The little boy came out of hiding from behind her legs, and tugged on her sleeve. She crouched down and let him whisper into her ear. She smiled and said, "of course sweetie," then took his small hand into hers, leading him to his mother's room.

I probably shouldn't be standing here staring at her like some kind of crazed stalker, but I couldn't help it. I loved seeing her like this. When she was in her element.

"See something you like?" Bobbie smirked. I jumped slightly at the sound of her voice. When did she get here?

"I was wondering when you'd realize I've been standing here for like ten minutes. Not really, but still," she teased. "Good to see you're still with us though."

"I – I . . ." I couldn't come up with a smart retort fast enough. What I wouldn't give for some of Christina's sass right now. It's definitely rubbed off on Bobbie.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me," she winked, as she left me standing here dumbfounded.

"Oh hey, Tom," Christina smiled. "Did I just hear Bobbie in here?"

"No?" I said, only it came out sounding more like a question.

"Oh," she frowned. "Coffee must not have worked its way up to my brain yet."

"How is he?" I asked, changing the subject.

"He's okay," she sighed. "Just a few minor scrapes and bruises."

"Have they called child services?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.

"Actually," she said slowly. "He's staying with me."

"Of course he is." While that wasn't what I was expecting to hear, I wasn't entirely surprised.

* * *

_Tom POV Spring 1990_

_The new year had come and gone, meaning I was another year older. Christina's birthday actually wasn't that long after mine, six days to be exact, which was a pleasant surprise; at least I won't have to worry about forgetting. _

_But now it was spring break. And instead of partying, I was in Christina's garage, watching her lace up her roller skates._

"_Before I grow a beard, Tom," Christina complained. "I've been itching to do this for a while, and today is the first day it's actually warm enough to stay outside. We are not wasting this opportunity."_

_I chuckled. "How are my legs supposed to keep up with your skates?" _

"_You take my bike, silly," she laughed. "This is Dex," she continued, introducing her bicycle as though it were a person._

"_You named your bike?" I asked._

"_I name everything," she shrugged. "What?" she inquired at my hesitancy._

"_Am I supposed to get on that thing?" I asked leering at the baby blue contraption that was surely older than both of us combined._

"_Don't listen to him Dex," she said before turning to me. "Don't diss the bike. I picked him out on my 13__th__ birthday. He just looked so sad amongst all the other bicycles, like he didn't belong, so I took him home. Just 'cause he doesn't have ten speeds or varying levels of resistance, doesn't mean he doesn't need love," she pouted. "Besides, they don't make them like this anymore."_

"_I'm sure there's a good reason for that," I muttered._

"_Stop hurting his feelings," she warned._

"_You're crazy," I said._

"_You say that all the time," she dismissed._

"_No, but I mean it this time. You're certifiable."_

"_Come on, slow poke," she teased._

"_Don't you just love nature?" she mused after our third circle around the block. "Everything is just so open, and unpredictable, and free!" she yelled as she twirled in a perfect circle on her skates, her arms extended about her. She couldn't look more perfect; smiling up at the sun, making her wild hair tumble down her back. _

_But she really ought to stop doing that. It was doing weird things to my suddenly fluttery stomach._

"_We should go to the beach tomorrow," she added randomly._

"_You do realize it's gonna take a good two hours to get there," I frowned as the baseball card she had pinned – yes, she pinned a baseball card to the spokes of her bicycle – flapped noisily when we rounded yet another corner. _

"_We can make a day trip out of it," she suggested._

"_Okay," I smiled. That actually didn't sound like a bad idea. "I'll ask my mom when we get home."_

"_Yeah, I forgot about that detail," she cringed. "Let's head back. I need to start practicing on how I'm going to warm my mom up to this."_

"_I take it she said yes," I groaned when Christina barged into my room the next morning and started jumping on my bed._

"_Mhm," she nodded. "But only because she likes you. She almost said no until I pulled the Tom card. I should try that more often," she said, slightly breathless from her bouncing. _

"_Would you cut that out?" I mumbled. While I was glad that Christina was comfortable enough to let herself in, she had a key to my house and I to hers since we spent so much time together, I did not welcome this particular wakeup call. I mean the sun wasn't even out yet._

"_Come on, get up. We're wasting precious driving time," she urged, yanking the covers off of me. "Well hello Tom's naked chest – "_

"_I'm up, I'm up!" I said, exasperated. Note to self: sleep with shirt on._

_We listened to The Beatles for most of the drive over. It was quite amusing watching Christina bob her head to Live and Let Die, sunglasses on, while the wind whipped her hair about because the windows were down. I even joined her on the chorus a time or two. Well I hummed while she sang. _

"_Green or yellow?" she asked._

_I looked over at her while she awaited my answer. "What kind of a question is that?" I said, turning my eyes back to the road._

"_Umm, the kind that I'm asking you right now," she responded in a 'duh' tone._

_I laughed. "Yellow."_

"_Good choice," she smiled, putting her foot up on the dashboard._

_After a couple of minutes of uncharacteristic silence, I glanced over to catch her 'concentrating' face on. It was one of the many faces she had, each more interesting than the last. This one was one of my favorites though. She looked laughably adorable with her eyebrows furrowed and her tongue peeking out of the side of her lip. "You're painting your toenails in the car?"_

"_Why not?" she shrugged._

_I shook my head, knowing better than to open that can of worms as I exited the expressway._

_After chasing Christina into the water, we were lying down on our towels under the beach umbrella we had rented, letting the sun evaporate the seawater off our skin. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't – distracted by Christina's little white bathing suit. Let's just say I was sad yet relieved when she asked me for my shirt to cover up._

"_How about them?" I said, nodding towards the older couple walking hand-in-hand down the beach. "What's their story?"_

"_They're here on their 44__th__ anniversary," she started. "They got married on her birthday by the way, and they were high school sweethearts. They were best friends, and though they didn't realize it at the time, madly in love. Then Hiroshima happened. He got drafted Christmas day, 1941. She was terrified. She didn't know how to say what she felt for him, and after he left, she thought she'd never see him again. But he came back, four years later, and they got married after a week," she sighed._

_She always came up with the most imaginative descriptions when we played our game. "How do you know he was in the military?" I teased. "And maybe they're just taking a nice stroll on the beach."_

"_Where's the fun in that?" she asked. "I like my version better. And besides, I can see his dog tags from here."_

"_I'll give you that one," I chuckled. "You hungry?"_

"_You bet," she said. "There's this cute little sandwich shack walking distance from here called John John's. They have the best paninis and just about everything else," she added, pulling her shorts on. She helped me up, and I let her lead the way._

"_Is that the line?" I asked, staring at the stream of people stretching past the entrance._

"_Oh I forgot that little tidbit. Come on let's go," she said, dragging me around to the back of the small building._

"_Are you sure we're supposed to be back here?" I piped up when she started to pick the lock on the back door._

_She looked back at me, but didn't answer before pushing the door open. She pulled me into a noisy kitchen area. I was sure we'd run into one of the workers rushing about, but Christina seemed unfazed._

"_John!" she shouted, causing a stocky, older gentlemen to look over in our direction._

"_Christina," he smiled in response, pulling her into a bone crushing hug. "Look at you, you're getting bigger and bigger every time I see you! How old are you now? Twelve? Thirteen?"_

"_Seventeen," she said, shoving him playfully._

"_Feh! You're making me feel old," he frowned. "Is this your boyfriend?" he asked, gesturing towards me. I'm sure my face was as red as the marsala my mom liked to cook with – and not because I forgot to put on sunscreen. _

"_No," she answered quickly. "Well I guess so. He's a boy and he is my friend," she rambled. "But it's not like that," she added._

"_I'm Tom," I chuckled, extending my hand. John pulled me into a hug. "Any friend of Christina's is a friend of mine. Now what can I do for you two?"_

"_We were just coming up from the beach. Wanted to get something to eat," Christina said._

"_You still want your usual?"_

"_You know how I like it John," she smiled._

"_And you?" he asked me._

"_Make that two," I said._

"_Two number fours on Italian, hold the onion!" he shouted over his shoulder. "How's your mother been?"_

"_She's good," Christina shrugged. "You know, busy with work as usual."_

"_I haven't seen her in a good while; neither of you for that matter. You know I still remember you when you were ye high," he sighed. "Now look at you. All grown up, driving over to the beach on your own with your boyfriend – "_

"_Actually, I'm not – " I started._

"_Feh!" he dismissed, waving his hands._

_Christina just laughed as one of the workers brought us our food in a big brown paper bag._

"_I can't promise you kids a table. It's been crazy all day," John said._

"_This is more than enough, John. We'll sit out back," she replied, pulling her wallet out._

"_I've got it," I said._

"_No, it's okay I'll pay."_

"_Christina – " I started. Unfortunately, this was how it was whenever we went anywhere._

"_It's on the house," John said. "And I don't want no discussion from either of you. Now get, you're holding up my kitchen," he teased._

"_Thanks John," Christina said, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek._

"_You kids have a good time. And say hello to your moms for me," he instructed. "It was nice meeting you, Tom."_

"_Likewise," I said, as I followed Christina out the back door._

"_Don't be a stranger," he shouted after us._

"_This isn't exactly a five star restaurant," Christina said as she pulled up two crates for us to sit on. "But, it's the best food you'll find for miles."_

"_How'd you find this place?" I asked in between mouthfuls. _

"_I used to come here with my mom all the time when I was younger," she said. "John opened this place back in the fifties. He's managed to keep everything in the family," she explained. "There never used to be this many people when I'd come with my mom, but ever since they did that TV special on the food here, the place has been crawling with tourists," she added, scrunching her nose._

"_Well, you were right. This is really good," I said._

"_Did you see that?" she asked, staring down the alleyway. _

"_What?"_

"_Over by the boxes," she pointed. "It's a puppy!"_

_There was in fact a puppy. It couldn't be more than two months old and - oh boy. "Christina," I warned. "It could belong to somebody. For all you know it could be diseased – "_

"_I wasn't even thinking about that!" she yelled defensively._

"_Maybe not, but I know you, Christina."_

"_Don't worry, we're leaving it here," she said._

_Yet I ended up pushing the cart down the pet aisle at the closest super market with Christina barking at me to grab dog food anyway. I thought for sure that I had won that argument. We had gathered our trash and left the alley behind John John's when the dog started following us. And it all went downhill from there._

"_Don't give me that look," she said, throwing yet another chew toy into the cart. "He didn't have a collar, and he's practically harmless! Besides, I think Moose likes you already."_

"_You named it Moose?"_

"_Yes, I named HIM Moose," she responded coolly._

"_But it's a dog," I reminded her._

"_It was the first thing that popped into my head!" she argued. "No sense in confusing him now."_

"_Oh, no, we wouldn't want that," I agreed sarcastically. It was totally okay for the dog to be confused about its species, just not its name._

_She ignored my jab and continued. "Tomorrow we'll take him to the vet, and we'll give him a bath. Then we'll go for a walk. Oh and we're gonna need to build you a dog house . . ._

**Christina POV **_Present Day_

I was eating ice cream in the cafeteria with Siam; he really needed a distraction after witnessing his mom code like that. But now, it seemed as if I was the one in greater need of a distraction. Amanda and Camille were relentless, and once they brought up Michael, I was done.

"Camille, that's it. You're not going!" I hissed.

"But mom – "

Before she could continue, I heard the shattering of a glass bowl behind me. Siam had stiffened and hit the floor before I could catch him.

Ignoring Camille's scream and Amanda's gasp, I switched into nurse mode, tilting his chin up to ensure that his airways would remain unobstructed; if he was having a stroke, which I highly doubted, I didn't want him choking on his tongue. I checked for a pulse and cursed mentally when I didn't find one.

"Code blue!" I shouted. Moments later, we were rushing to ICU, while I kept pumping the oxygen into his mouth.

After confirming paralysis, we transferred him to peds.

"Okay, page OR 2, let them know we're ready for them," Dr. Lamp said

"Wait a minute," I started, placing myself in front of the gurney. "You guys are jumping the gun here." After rattling off the details of the accident and eliminating conditions we had already ruled out with his first examination, I had an epiphany. "I've got it!" I had to go tell Tom.

Much to my dismay, the OR team was already scrubbed in. I knew I shouldn't just barge in there like that, but I was in too much of a hurry to save this woman to dwell on it much. Not so much that I forgot to scrub in before hand, I thought as I tied the mask over my face.

"Tom!" I yelled, slightly breathless from my haste. "Stop the surgery!" Everyone in the room turned and stared at me simultaneously, like I had sprouted a different head.

"Don't operate," I said.

**Tom POV **_Present Day_

What the hell? I all but tore my mask off my face as I grabbed Christina, shoving her through the door.

"Ow, you're hurting me!"

"What are you _doing_?" I hissed.

"I'm saving this woman's life," she said. "And keeping you from making a stupid mistake."

I tried to bite back the awful comments that were brewing in my mind, but my sensibility was losing the current battle with my anger and frustration. "You would know, right? Because you've made so many of them yourself."

She ignored me and continued on her rant. "Her son's potassium levels crashed, and right now they've got him on a – "

"We'll worry about that post-op!"

"Tom, just trust me!" she pleaded.

"Why, because you know better?" I spat. I know I should feel sorry for being so harsh, but I couldn't find it in me. Who the hell barges into an operating room and stops life-saving surgery?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"David is refusing treatment because you told him he's healed! You're interfering, Christina. Just like you told Bobbie earlier with the burn patient!"

"Tom, that was different and you know it! Cutting this woman open could mean her life. That doesn't compare to a woman refusing amputation. Ji-Sun and David aren't your lab rats!" she countered.

"And you're not a doctor!" I shouted. Her eyes widened, and I instantly regretted everything I just said. She tore herself out of my grip, and took off, leaving me feeling cheap, remorseful, and just all around shitty in general. If it weren't for the fact that this woman's life was in jeopardy, I would have gone after her. But instead I turned back into the OR.

My team looked up at me expectantly, and I sighed. I really don't know what came over me but I said: 'Start a slow push, potassium chloride."

As I took my gloves off, I answered my own question from earlier. Christina barges into operating rooms and stops life-saving surgery because she cared. Because she wanted to do right by everyone who came through here, even if they weren't her patient. Enough so that she would willingly risk her job to save a complete stranger.

And now, I may or may not have just made her cry. God, I'm an ass.

**Christina POV **_Present Day_

I hated this. The screaming matches with Tom. And while they didn't happen often, I wouldn't object if they never happened again. His words hurt, and he had yet to let go of my arms. While he wasn't physically hurting me, my mind instantly transported me back to that scared little girl in that bathroom the summer before freshman year of high school, before I even knew Tom existed. And I freaked.

I needed distance, and the roof wasn't an option; he'd find me too easily there. And right now I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

**Tom POV **_Present Day_

"How do you always know where to find me?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically silent.

I slid down onto the floor next to her. Ignoring her question, I reached out to touch her shoulder and tell her just how sorry I was. And even though I couldn't see anything in this utter darkness, I could sense that she was flinching away from me; my anger flared up again. Only this time it was directed at myself.

"Have you been crying?" I whispered.

"No," she said quickly. "I wanted to. But I promised myself I wouldn't," she explained. "It seems like every day that promise gets harder to keep. Especially on days like this. And before you start blaming yourself it wasn't entirely your fault," she sighed. "Amanda has been ragging on me all day, undermining my parenting skills, dragging Michael's name into everything. Not to mention, Camille almost ran off to New York with Suzanne under the guise of a school trip. Then there's the whole thing with David, and having to yell at Bobbie, and fighting with you," she paused.

"Well for what it's worth I _am _sorry," I apologized. "And for the record, there's no one I'd rather argue with more."

I could feel her smile in the darkness. "Thanks, Tom," she said, leaning over to hug me. I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the smell of her hair greedily. "That means a lot," she mumbled into my shoulder.

Of course at that moment the door to the broom closet decided to swing open.

"I'm so sorry," the janitor exclaimed after flipping on the light switch.

"No problem, Hank," Christina winked after extracting herself from my arms, pulling me to a stand along with her. "Well that should feed the rumor mills for a good week or so," she shrugged.

"Make that two," I amended, taking in Hank's amused expression.

**Tom POV **_Spring 1990_

_It was the last day of spring break, and I was trying to mellow out by listening to the Otis Redding record Christina had lent me. I wasn't far into my favorite track when a ruckus outside the window interrupted my whistling. _

_Just as I got up to investigate, Christina popped her head into the window._

"_Did I miss something?" I just had to ask. "I could've sworn the front door was still in working order."_

_She lowered the dog in before climbing in herself. "Sorry I just watched Escape from Alcatraz. I was feeling stealthy," she offered. "Besides, Moose was missing his daddy," she cooed. _

_I laughed and scooped our puppy up into my arms. In the past couple of days, that dog has actually grown on me. And it was funny watching Christina talk to him as if he were a human being; when I had initially brought that up, she simply shrugged and said: "they might understand more than you think."_

"_I actually needed your help with a math problem," she said._

"_We didn't have math homework," I said, confused._

"_I know," she answered, taking a crumbled piece of paper out of her pocket._

_I pulled out a notebook out of my desk drawer and sat down on the floor next to her, not even bothering to try and convince her to use the desk; I'd spare myself the rant about how she preferred not being caged in behind wood that belonged in the forest._

"_Why do you divide like that?" she frowned._

"_That's how I learned it in elementary school," I shrugged. Breezing through the remaining steps I knew while this was difficult for most, Christina could do this in her sleep. Don't get me wrong I was happy to help her regardless . . . but she was obviously up to something._

"_So . . ." she began. "I heard that Mia sort of has a thing for you." Ah, there goes that dreaded statement again._

"_And?" I asked._

"_What do you mean and? Are you gonna do anything about it?" she demanded. "Do you like her?"_

"_We've been over this already. I don't want to talk about it," I said._

"_Why not?" she asked. "It's not like I'm gonna say anything to anyone. I'm just trying to help," she offered._

"_But that's exactly it," I sighed. "You're not going to help, you're going to meddle."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_It means you're insufferable Christina! You're always trying to fix everything, even when they don't need fixing. You get in the middle of things that don't concern you, and you never slow down for a minute to just, just – be." While there was some truth to my words, I didn't have to be so harsh about it. But being mean was easier than telling her the truth: I didn't like Mia because I think I'm crushing on someone else – who happens to be my best friend, who I happen to be arguing with right now. I wasn't going to tell her that because that's all it was. A stupid crush that I'd get over once her novelty wore off. There was no need to complicate things._

"_Glad you think so highly of me," she said._

"_You came here asking for _my _help," I reminded her._

"_You're right," she began "but obviously you don't need mine, so maybe I should just leave!"_

"_Fine," I yelled._

"_Fine!" she shouted back, slamming the door to my room in a huff and causing Moose to whimper._

_But before I could mentally debate whether I should go after her, the door swung open again._

"_I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't always like this, you know? I used to like going to parties all the time, and I wanted to be a cheerleader. But things happened that can really change a girl and I'm totally getting off track here," she rambled. "But you're so right, and if you don't want to tell me something I completely understand, and I shouldn't pry," she rushed. "Am I forgiven?"_

_I laughed and pulled her into a hug, expressing to her with my body what I couldn't with words. "Of course you are," I hummed, kissing the top of her head. "And for the record, no I don't like Mia," I added, knowing that she still really wanted to know._

_And I really wanted to know what happened that turned Christina into this crazed fixer-upper. But I won't ask her because unlike her I won't pry. I'll wait for her to tell me herself._


End file.
